


Who's Fault Is It?

by skepticallysighing



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Abusive Relationship, Bad Ending, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Insanity, M/M, Manipulation, Obsession, One Sided Love, Victim Blaming, Yandere, yandere patrick hockstetter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2019-02-03 19:29:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12754689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skepticallysighing/pseuds/skepticallysighing
Summary: “It’s your fault,” he’d always say, hands around Vic, running his hands over his delicate boy. “You know it is. If you just stopped trying to get attention, if you could be content with just me, then we could be happy. Don’t you want to be happy, Vic?”





	1. Fault

_"Oh, stop squirming, Viccy,” Patrick murmured as he secured Vic’s wrists behind his back. “You’re just going to rub away all that pretty skin and then we’ll be in a dee-lem-ma, won’t we?”_

_“Why do you keep doing this?” Vic murmured softly, looking up at him, eyes pink from crying and lip quivering. God, he looked so gorgeous, Patrick had to kiss him again. Vic tasted just like taffy and sweetness. Patrick tasted like piss and greywater.  
_

_“You know what you were doing,” Patrick murmured, pulling away. “I saw you. You were all curled up to Belch, and you were gonna tell him about us.”  
_

_Patrick leaned down, taking him in._

_“It’s your fault, you know. It’s your fault he’s dead.”  
_

_Vic harshly inhaled, twisting his head away._

_He had gone to Belch, to tell him what was happening, and that he needed help. That Patrick had already killed Stanley Uris and Beverly Marsh and Vic’s dog. And everytime, he stuffed the body into a little fridge in the junkyard, just until the investigation died down, and then he’d dump it somewhere._

_“ **It’s your fault** ,” he’d always say, hands around Vic, running his hands over his delicate boy. “You know it is. If you just  **stopped**  trying to get attention, if you could be content with just me, then we could be happy. Don’t you want to be happy, Vic?”  
_

_Vic would shiver and he’d shake as Patrick squeezed his knee._

_Patrick never went further than a touch to the knee. He never violated him. He never forced him to do things. Patrick never hit him or hurt him. The fact that Vic had to think of that as a pro was sick._

_No, Patrick would only hurt anyone who Vic shared his attention with._

_“Say it, **say it, Vic.”**  
_

_**“** I d-don’t know what you want me to say.”  
_

_“That’s not true.”  
_

_His skinny bound wrists were forced up, wrapped around Patrick’s neck, and Patrick pulled him close._

_(Close, close, piss and greywater and jizzums and we danced, oh we danced down there down and down we go)_

_“Shh..stop crying. Hey, baby, dry your eyes. I’ve got you. I’m here.”  
_

_Vic whimpered and buried his face into Patrick’s shoulder, quivering slightly and accepting the horrible attention. His hands stayed limp and his body curled up close._

_“I love you, Vic.”  
_

_“I-I love you too, Patrick.”  
_

_“Who’s fault is it?”  
_

_“‘S mine.”  
_

_“That’s right. Now, we’re gonna split for a while, till this all cleans itself up. I’m gonna take you out of Derry for a bit, and we’re gonna stay in a hotel. A nice one. Cocoa packets in the lounge and room service. You want that, baby?”  
_

_“Mhm.”  
_

_“That’s a good boy. Who’s the only one who gets to love you, Viccy?”  
_

_“You.”  
_

_“Very good. So smart. I love you.”_

_Vic hiccuped and hid his face more._

_“Say it, **say it back, baby. Say it.”**  
_

“I love you.”

“I love you too, my darling.”

And Patrick carried him to the car outside, buckling him in, moving him like a child. Or a doll.

And they drove away.

Belch Huggins death was marked a mystery, and people noticed The Disappearance of Patrick Hockstetter. Everyone assumed he was just Another One of the Missing.

Vic was forgotten easily.


	2. Beverly Marsh: Goddess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But Beverly Marsh always seemed otherworldly and ethereal. When they had burned incense and talked about India in his world hist’ry class, he thought of her like that. Some foreign princess surrounded with silks and spices, with her gorgeous eyes and her flowing red hair. It was like the sun had been personified. She was a goddess.
> 
> Then he met Patrick Hockstetter.

**POLICE DEPARTMENT**

**CITY OF DERRY**

##  **MISSING**

**VICTOR CRISS**

**15 YEARS OLD**

**LAST SEEN SEPTEMBER 7**

DESCRIPTION: Date of Birth: August 28, 1974 Male, 15 yrs. Height: 5’8” Weight: 150 lbs Blonde Hair, Brown Eyes, Braces. Wearing green T-shirt, Jeans, Engineer Boots.

_Persons Having Any Information Are Requested To Call_

Vic’s baseball bat was in the trunk of the Trans Am. The one Belch used to drive, the one that Patrick had taken Vic away in.

The blonde was sitting down at the foot of their hotel bed, eating the yogurt Patrick had snatched for him from the morning buffet. He wasn’t allowed out of the room, not for longer than a quick check in and check out. It would be bad if someone recognised him as Another One of the Missing.

He was spooning away at all the yogurt, trying to avoid the chunky bits of strawberry. Patrick knew he hated the yogurts full of chunks, yet he got them every time.

(Eat it. Come on,  ** _eat it_**.)

Everytime he saw the little red chunks, all he could think of was Beverly Marsh. That pretty girl with Patrick’s eyes and dazzling red hair.

He had fallen for Beverly the first time he had met her. When he had bumped into her and spilled his books, she had laughed slightly and kneeled down beside him, offering a warm smile.

_Ooh, he had felt so warm. He didn’t know what she was, she just inspired this bubbling feeling in his chest._

“Victor, isn’t it?” she had asked.

“Yeah, I-…sorry, I wasn’t watching my way-”

And it all blurred together, but he remembered her winking at him. He remembered it because it was when he got his first crush, with his geeky braces and brown hair, in love with Bev. And she had smiled at him so brightly, how could he not?

As he changed himself, his friends, his clothes, his hair, his life, he had grown more mature. Jaded, he supposed. He had grown cold. He had taken company with colder crowds.

But Beverly Marsh always seemed otherworldly and ethereal. When they had burned incense and talked about India in his world hist’ry class, he thought of her like that. Some foreign princess surrounded with silks and spices, with her gorgeous eyes and her flowing red hair. It was like the sun had been personified. She was a  **goddess**.

Then he met Patrick Hockstetter.

Patrick said he was a  **god**. Patrick had told Vic that, one late night in the hotel, he had grabbed Vic by the chin and held tight until Vic had said “I love you,  **My** **God**.” And Patrick rewarded him with a loving smooch on the head and a fancy cookie with butterscotch and marshmallows mixed in.

Vic was not sure Patrick was a  **god**.

Even when his mama had taught him to pray, she had said something that stuck with him.

“Baby, whenever you get that good feeling in your chest when you help someone, that’s  **God**. He’s in everyone, and he loves everyone. Those Protestants, and the Jews,  **God**  loves them too, and they love  **God**.  **God’s**  in all of us, and I want you to remember that.”

He had known Beverly was the embodiment of everything holy. Beverly was a  **goddess**.

Patrick taught him that was wrong.

Patrick taught him that a  **god**  conquers and destroys and that’s just how it is.

Patrick had showed him Beverly was just an easy-to-kill human when he had killed her.

Oh, and Vic saw it all. He remembered how Patrick bound his wrists behind his back and gagged him with something foul. Trapped like a rabbit and unable to move, he had watched as Patrick beat Beverly Marsh to death with Vic’s favourite baseball bat.

Patrick had poked Vic with the bat, smearing ooey gooey Beverly Marsh onto his cheek. The bits of a  **goddess**.

The bat that was still in the trunk.

He put the yogurt down. The blood red chunks made him think of Beverly’s brain spilling everywhere. He couldn’t eat anymore.


	3. And We Danced

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Close, close, piss and greywater and jizzums and we danced, oh we danced down there down and down we go)

**POLICE DEPARTMENT**

**CITY OF DERRY**

##  **MISSING**

**VICTOR CRISS**

**15 YEARS OLD**

**LAST SEEN ~~SEPTEMBER~~  7**

DESCRIPTION: Date of Birth: ; Male, 15 yrs. 

 **H** eight: 5’8” W-

 **E** ight: 150

 **L** bs Blonde Hair, Brown Eyes, Braces. Wearing green T-shirt, Jeans, Engineer Boots.

_**P** ersons Having Any Infor-_

_**M** ation Are R-_

_**E** quested To Call_

* * *

 

 

The bat had been in the car’s backseat, forgotten. After Vic had watched silently as the  **goddess**  was beaten to death

(sticky icky mush!)

with that very same bat. He had watched as the  _angel_  choked to death

(it’s alright, he sucks like this for his flamer friends, he can take it)

with that very same bat.

And now, it was in his hand.

The blonde stood in the doorway, staring at Patrick as he took his phone call, heart pounding in his chest. This was the end all of endings. If he was caught now, he was caught for good. There would never be a chance to escape again.

Because there would be no more waking mornings where Patrick would leave Vic alone when he showered if this went wrong. On those days, Vic was allowed to have five minutes all by himself to wash his body and make himself clean for Patrick. And if this went wrong?

They would go back to the way it was the first month. Where Patrick kept one hand on his throat to hold him still and slowly rubbed soap over his entire body so roughly

(so vivid!)

that Vic’s delicate skin was always ruddy at the end.

And Vic would not be allowed to go to the bathroom anymore. Patrick would hold a bottle to his dick and a bag to his ass, and he’d wipe with his own shirt, and he’d burn the proof so there was never any sign Victor Criss was ever alive.

Patrick did not move, busy with whatever was on his phone. It was so stupid.

Patrick went to all these lengths to make sure Vic was for his eyes only, but now that Vic stood behind him with the bat raised, he was too dumb to look behind himself.

Why wouldn’t he just turn around.

As Vic raised the bat as high as it could go, he realised that Patrick loved him more than anyone ever would. He loved him more than the  **goddess** , and he loved him more than the  _angel_.

He trusted Victor. He believed that no matter what he did, Victor would never hurt him back.

And that was why Vic knew he would always love Patrick more than anyone else, till the day he died.

He slammed the bat down on the back of Patrick’s head.

(For the  _angel_  who never hurt anyone, who would only sit with his hands in his lap, cupping his heart out for Vic to hold.)

Patrick cried out, hitting the table. His phone shattered against his nose, fracturing.

(Like the  **goddess** )

Vic slammed the bat down again.

(For the  **goddess**  who knew the world and who held it upon a string, along with her soul, which she extended out for Vic to hold.)

Again.

(For Belch, who never stopped fighting for him, who screamed and punched and kicked and swore he would never - never ever ever - back down.)

Again.

(For Henry.)

He shoved Patrick onto his back and drove the bat down his throat.

 

He shoved the bat down Patrick’s throat again and again, wood splintering, chips digging it. Raping his throat, he was raping it, just like Patrick had done everytime he shoved that sick yogurt down and down. Patrick knew he hated that yogurt, but he made him eat it anyways. Patrick knew he hated violence, but he made him watch every time someone died.

In the distance, Vic could vaguely hear Patrick screaming with what was left of his throat, and Vic just

couldn’t

**_stop_ **

(Eat it, come on, EAT IT)

himself.

 

Again.

 

 

 

 

 

Again again again again again again again.

 

 

 

 

Again again.

 

A

 

 

gain.

 

 

 

_(Close, close, piss and greywater and jizzums and we danced, oh we danced down there down and down we go)_

He picked up the cracked phone, unlocking it. He knew Patrick’s password. It was his own birthday.

 

“Mama..?”

He waited.

“Oh, oh my god. Andy, Andy, Vic’s on the phone,” and he could hear his dad in the background. “Victor, baby, is that really you? Where are you?”

“Yeah.” His voice cracked. “Yeah, it’s...it’s me, mama.”

He started to cry.

“Mama, I-I wanna come home now.”


End file.
